My love of churchyards

Over the last two years I have been mostly preoccupied with studying for a post graduate diploma in parish church studies with the University of York. As to why I came to take this path is a mixture of interest in the history of England of which the church played such an important factor and my involvement in a medieval group that took me on trails of stories in stone and gargoyles, of relics in cases and architecture that tells of the relationship between the people and their beliefs.

 My main focus has been on churchyards, drifting through swathes of grass to read lichen encrusted gravestones, poring over lettering cut centuries ago and learning of the tales that accompany them. As a child I  was perhaps a little spooky and enjoyed walking through the local graveyard and did not find it weird or strange, although I did buy myself a book called the Fireside Book of Death which I’m sure my mother raised her eyebrows at. However, it’s been a long standing relationship, the departed and I, so applying academic study to it has been exciting.

When I talk to people about my interest both in real life and online, I receive a mixed response- some people are fascinated, some consider me ghoulish and gothic…..perhaps a little part of me is. But really churchyards are places of such beauty and art that tells the story of our ancestors. Dark tourism is increasingly popular with tours of cemeteries such as the local one I did that I wrote about the intriguing showman character I had learnt about and of course the  immense London cemeteries offer tours as well as holding small classical concerts and other cultural events in these highly atmospheric spaces. Also the death positive movement is gathering momentum, lets not view death as taboo, sweep it under the carpet, lets enable the discussion to be more positive, think of the celebrations of the Mexican Day of the Dead and how that link to the dead remains.

 As I walk around churchyards and see the new graves and the fresh wreaths, read the notes and see the modern tokens left, small cherubs and trinkets, I do feel sad. It must be hard to know what to do and who to ask about many of the practicalities around the loss of a family member of friend. This useful guide by SunLife provides help around what to do when somebody dies, answering key questions to assist in what to do. I always pause as I’m wandering about the graveyard but more often than not I’m looking amongst the older part of the area seeking the stones set into the ground hundreds of years ago.

My main interest are 18^th century graves with their memento mori messages and symbolism of death with almost comical looking skulls and angels such as the ones in the Nottinghamshire area, known as the Belvoir angels with their swirly eyes and curly locks. The simplicity of rustic graves intrigue me the most with sometimes crudely cut lettering and mistakes or oddly spaced letters. It becomes a moment of anticipation as I walk through churchyard gates, what will I find. Sometimes the graveyard has been reordered over time and the stones are moved to the edges or stacked by the church. Regardless, each ones tells of so many things. It may tell of the occupation of the deceased, of their social standing in a time gone by and the tragedy of families lives lost so young is there to see. Many times I have used this information to find out more in the local history archives, it’s a satisfying exercise to learn of the life from the stone.

Churchyards are also places where I like to take many photographs. There is something very beautiful about rows and rows of tombstones and memorials, angels reaching up high and cherubs scattering flowers, the grand Victorian grave flamboyancy that reflects their views around death at the time. Then to the uniformity and sombreness of  war graves, peaceful white and silently stood. Wherever I go, I pop into the churchyard and gain something; sometimes a chat with a churchwarden or a brush with nature as some are managed for conservation…..a great place to spot butterflies. Sometimes a place for a quiet moment and a flask of tea on a sunny day or a winter’s walk through the frost. If you’ve never considered a graveyard as a place to go on this side of the mortal plain, well do give it a go and let me know what you find, whether it’s a beautiful place of sanctuary buzzing with wildlife or an austere setting of catacombs and Victorian eccentricities. 

December light snowfall

Curtains open. Snow overnight whilst we all dreamt of sledging, skidding and snowballing, big fat flurries falling on roofs, turning the parks, playing fields, gardens and verges into snowman playgrounds. Not to be. Mid Cheshire snow, so brief and so light, as if the salty earth in these parts stops the flakes from settling and instead allows a brief dusting to excite the townsfolk before quickly melting away.

Boots on, crunch of crystalline paths to the town church with smatterings of snow on gate pillars and gathering in mini drifts along the original churchyard wall, God's Acre now belonging to Boreas. Pockets of snow in grassy tufts by gravestones, collecting in the words of the forgotten, 1845. A solitary flake eddies and lands on shouldered stone, I remember you, the cold remembers you well.

Along the path by the great east window, walked already by hardy shoppers in buttoned up coats and hopped by hardy birds in buttoned up feather jackets, carrying their bags and their worms. Wheels from pushchairs and brave slippy cyclists with chilled hands gripping handlebars, knuckled red and puffs of breath chugging along. Here the churchyard is littered with the decay of fallen headstones like the aftermath of a battle. Crosses lay wounded in icy snow and weary angels pray for no thaw.
We all want more snow.

Back by the south porch, about to shrug shoulders, glance optimistically at the quilted sky one last time when the feather burst happened. Downy snowflakes large as goose quills falling heavily, the furious emptying of huge pillows. Eyelashes sparkling and obscured by Arctic drifts with every blink as I pretend I might be later snowshoeing it across the ledger stones, past the old wall and under the icicle hanging wrought iron gate back home whilst dodging snowballs hurled by excited children. 

Reality is such that the squall and dance of the flakes did obscure the church tower for a couple of minutes, a Gothic blur as gargoyles and grotesque heads caught flakes in grimacing toothy smiles and gurns accumulated white powder, lolling tongues tasted globs of snow and a poof of  last night's frost shot out of the spouts like winter cannons. The sun just a faint low hanging light as if it had suddenly been ambushed and bundled into a sack, gauzy, muffled......the snow falling onto the old sundial, covering that too for good measure, stating the day simply and clearly as winter time.

Church and chapel conversions

I'm now in the second year of a post graduate diploma in parish church studies and I'm enjoying it so much, learning about the history of churches and their care and conservation. One topic which frequently comes up in the press is what to do about churches that lie redundant, no congregation entering to sing hymns, long gone church fetes and no candles flickering in the stained glass windows. I love the buildings and their architecture and I'm all for them being reused for different purposes and one that appeals to me is turning them into glorious places to live, I've seen a few on the market  and if a graveyard as a back garden doesn't faze you too much then what incredible spaces to live.

Second stories and galleries can be created for upstairs living, contemporary and functional with perhaps a metal spiral staircase, look for staircases online UK, which will add the living space required and breathe new life into the forgotten church. I would love nothing more than sleeping by walls where so many have passed, wondering what lives have experienced, so much history in your home.

Image from Rightmove

With the height that affords a church, why not have an amazingly sophisticated outdoor space too, a terrace if planning will allow, outdoor metal staircases flanked by bay trees to an entertaining area. Many churches were built during the Victorian area in cities and large towns when most people attended church, modern times and these churches are being sold off. Renovations changing use of these magnificent buildings. Many churches in London have been converted and there are some excellent examples to draw on, blending 19th century architecture with contemporary living. Given the large space, often they are converted to unique apartments - vaulted ceiling bedrooms with light streaming in through rose and huge leaded windows.

Image Rightmove

Many non-conformist chapels, such as Methodist chapels are also perfect renovation opportunities and they are to be found on the market with bespoke interiors. Smaller than Anglican churches, often these chapels are a better option as a single house. Rectangular shaped for the manner of preaching that was done within them and now a large space for open plan living. Unique exteriors and grand entrances creating the wow factor, sympathetically fitted with fixtures and fittings making the most of the building's heritage.

Image from Rightmove

I once had a look around a converted chapel with Sunday school attached which was on the market, a Grade II listed building retaining many of the original features. Such a clever conversion that whilst being a modern home on the inside, you could still clearly feel that you were in a historic building. Back then I wasn't into churches and I admit that I thought it might be a little creepy - oh how things change!

Living in a church would certainly be different and a commitment to take on board, consider the dimensions for heating and lighting, also to what degree you may make alterations. Friends often send me the details of churches they've seen for sale so you never know, it would be quite fitting for my studies.

Image source Rightmove

*Collaborative Post

Graveyard gift

Standing in the churchyard, local quarried stone

Keeper of lost souls, the guardian of bone,

Seasons of people passing through lych-gate to this acre

A remembrance of life, a trustworthy caretaker.

No longer in mortal memory of freshly wiped tears

Generations have long forgotten over many years,

Through times of hardship and wars with skies so leaden

Vandals, neglect and weathering spelt graveyard Armageddon.

But still the stones remain although edges decay

The words that were inscribed oft have little left to say.

Now it is the nature that speaks in volumes with such might

From those that crawl and slither, scuttle or fly at night.

An angel full of lichen and a skull that's topped with moss

An ecosystem of memento mori on every arch and every cross.

Winding paths cutting meadow grass welcome dainty wing

Summer ox-eyed daises, buttercups and snowdrops every spring.

Tussocks of Yorkshire-fog with plumes of purple florets

A food source for the Speckled Wood and where beetles rest in showers.

Amidst a sea of flowers with waves of buzz and pollen golden

Centuries of graves to which wildlife is beholden.

Ferns in damp shaded corners, a steady drip of blessed dew
The avenue of limes and the mysterious ancient yew,

Hiding places for woven nests, the robin and the wren

Tangles of ivy and prickling bramble, a dashing foxes den.

A hunting and foraging site for creatures of all sizes

The nocturnal and crepuscular and songbirds at sun rises,

A figure of eight loop-the-loop from a pipistrelle

Catching flies, dancing high above where granite tombstones dwell.

Moonlight brings the badger on his familiar trail

Trodden path with humbug grunts and wiry tufts of tail,

And as he stops to snuffle for worms and droplets of elder berries

Peace abounds; consecrated ground, tranquil cemeteries.

Open the gate to these sacred spaces in countryside or town

Take some time to sit there and really look around.

Whether your journey is spiritual or somewhere to find ease

Celebrate the gift of the natural world underneath the trees,

A place for green enrichment and replenishing the mind

A rich mosaic of living and departed intertwined.

Liverpool light in darkness

 Cold night warmed up by the soaring music of the Swedish Lucia celebrations at the Liverpool Anglican Cathedral. Candlelit crowns and the procession of a goosebump inducing soul stirring choir dressed in white gowns. Utter bliss. It couldn't have been any more wintry followed by a hot chocolate with whipped cream in the pop up ski lodge under the illuminated Christmas tree in the heart of the city.

As we walked around, past revellers and festive romancers we found a light show projection onto a building at the historic Albert Dock and fairy light scattered carousel horses reflected in those cold waters of maritime tales and yellow submarines. The lights of Liverpool. a city of great culture and a lot to explore day or night. Stumbling upon the oldest building in Liverpool that is now an arts venue,the security guard couldn't have been any more helpful and despite it being closed, he delighted in telling us all about the history of the place. But that's what you come to expect from Liverpool, proud people full of life just like their city. 

Pevensey cottage and church flowers

 A recent stay in a cosy cottage in Pevensey, East Sussex where it had a little garden that stretched to the leafy lane to the parish church. Warm October sun highlighting the pinks and purples of hydrangeas and fuchsias.  Ferns with gossamer stretched across fronds and spiders spinning webs on the autumn mornings.

A peal of church bells from a visiting band, cup of tea in hand, standing at the conservatory door listening. Missing my own bells that I ring each week in my local church and so later I ambled down the old snicket and pushed open the church door but instead of bells I was distracted by the harvest flowers.

Yellows and coppers, trailing ivy and mini apples, grasses and corn stalks with some vegetables amongst the chrysanthemums. Displays in the amber soft light of the stained glass, seed heads with sunflowers and bursts of brown and yellow. Is this not the best time of year for those rich colours and reminders of bounty and all that hedgerow glory......

An autumnal offering for How Does Your Garden Grow? at Mammasaurus.